


the one dick you suck before you die

by nisakomi



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Fairy Godparents, Future Fic, M/M, Self-cest, Time Travel, idolverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-09-27 06:28:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9980438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nisakomi/pseuds/nisakomi
Summary: here’s the thing: is it still called ‘auto-fellatio’ if there’s two of you?(you already know if you really want to read this or absolutely not)





	

 

 

On the whole, he copes fairly well with the whole thrust backward three years in time thing, Wonwoo thinks. An 8/10 performance at least.

 

  

⧖

 

 

It kind of…all happens at once. The thing is, Dispatch doesn’t break the news in the morning like they normally do. Maybe that gives people too much time to compose themselves before people see the news on the way to work or something. Anyway, it certainly takes everyone off guard because it comes out around one in the afternoon on Naver, while Wonwoo’s sitting in the back of a van with Seungcheol and Jeonghan, sleeping in fits and starts whenever the wheels take too much of a bump.

He backreads through all the groupchat and manager messages while an efficient team dusts his nose with powder, eyes only leaving the screen of his first-person shooting game when he’s asked to look up so they can paint silky black gel on his waterline.

The three of them drape themselves over a sofa, on some stools, or artfully over some fake rocks, a minimalist log cabin kind of scene in the background. Everything is wooden. The white paint on the table is purposefully unfinished. He’s asked to look content, contemptuous, contrite, concubinely…everything except constipated. They take some shots in pairs, then as a group, and hours later, when the make-up is starting to melt off his face from the heavy lighting, the director concludes the session and they’re allowed to remove their truly hideous attire.

Wonwoo’s laughing with Seungcheol about the pleated grey drape they hung between his legs on a belt, like some sort of heavy wool loincloth, when the manager that had accompanied them gets off his phone and beckons Wonwoo aside with a grim expression.

He hadn’t known how bad it would be then; the managers always have a grim expression. You ate an extra fifty grams of chicken breast, your interview at four got pushed back to four thirty, the boss wants you recording now because he thinks you’re behind schedule. Sometimes they have a grim expression because the bathroom smells bad. It’s just, like, their face.

If had known what would happen next – the screaming and yelling, the speeding back to the company building in a way that made Wonwoo think they’d die in a car crash and relieve him of having to face the music, more screaming and yelling, pacing, drafting and redrafting of a statement, nervous phone calls, shouting over the phone, back to screaming and yelling at him, grown men chewing their thumbnails, more phone calls, more screaming and yelling. If he had known, he would have done an about face, paid for a complete face transplant, and left the city.

Okay, maybe he wasn’t _that_ cowardly, but it sounds like a good idea in his head.

Instead, he doesn’t get to sleep until something like four in the morning, when he gets a curt, “Well, everyone is too asleep to care so we’ll take care of this in the morning,” and then some awful stink-eye by the PR team who obviously don’t get to take a break for his shortcomings.

By the time he’s showered the day off and crawls into bed – Seokmin’s is empty, he’s off eating something gross in the jungle or something – he can only pull the blankets right over his head, huddling into a ball like a baby.

The worst part was that no one had deigned to let him know, or cut him off when he tried to ask, and then took away his phone and all his electronics to boot so he had no idea how Miyoungie was doing through all this. If she was okay. No, of course she wasn’t okay, but it would have been nice to…something. Wonwoo runs a hand through his hair. She’d been through her fair share of controversy over the years, anyway.

It’s bad enough that he’s in a dating scandal.

The last thing he thinks before he falls asleep is he desperately wishes they hadn’t stupidly gotten careless. Miyoungie was a nice, nice girl, but she could have some really really dumb ideas, and when Wonwoo goes along with them, that’s how they end up in sticky situations like these. If only he had just said no.

 

 

⧖

 

 

He has a dream that they’re on tour in New York. He thinks it’s New York because everything’s in English, but it could also be Los Angeles, or San Francisco.

They’re singing a mash-up of their early songs, Adore U, Mansae, and Pretty U all mixed together, and when he gets to the front of the triangle, ready to sing about being anxious, he’s suddenly naked and the lightsticks in the audience go still. He wills himself to stop, cover up, run, or something, but the other members continue dancing in their sharp suits with red accents, and he can only continue, in the nude as the cheering screams turn into shrieks of laughter.

Suddenly, the music stops, the members stop, and the audience stops. Wonwoo regains control of his limbs, showing his hands over his crotch area when there’s a flash of light and soft _pop_.

He squints until he can make out a tiny figure, long brown hair, black leotard, pink tutu, white tights, sparkly star wand. She’s about six inches long and, oh, she has wings.

“I’ve never dreamt of a fairy before,” he says.

“Please. As if you could dream of someone as awesome as me.” She rolls her eyes, voice a bit high and squeaky. It’s like a fleck of dust on a computer screen, that’s how tiny she is. “Anyway, so you wish you could have said no, eh?”

It suddenly occurs to Wonwoo that the fairy is speaking in English, and that he can understand her. “Are you supposed to be able to know languages you’re barely familiar with in your dreams?” he asks.

She narrows her eyes. “Is that a yes or not?”

“Um. Sure,” he says easily. It’s just a dream after all.

“Okay, so, to get back you’re going to have to find the trigger – it’ll probably be a pink dumbbell, ten pounds—” She cuts herself off suddenly and squints at him. “Can you lift ten pounds?”

“What? Of course I can lift ten pounds! I have a six—”

“Okay, so it’ll be fine. It’ll be somewhere it shouldn’t be so don’t go looking in the gym or something for fuck’s sake, and be quick about it. If you linger and change too much then I’ll have to reverse everything and this will all have been for naught.”

“Are fairies supposed to swear?”

“Are fairies supposed to swear, he asks, are fairies supposed to help such good-for-nothing pieces of—” Wonwoo doesn’t catch whatever else she has to say because the world suddenly tilts.

“Oh shit,” she swears again, “better hurry up. You’ll still have to pay even if nothing happens, it’ll be a hundred kitty cat points as per the regular transaction fee, upon your return.”

“One hundred cat points?” Wonwoo frowns. “I don’t have cat points. What are those?”

“You don’t have—. You know what, forget it. We’ll work out a payment when you get back, you’re starting to wake up. Don’t get stuck, don’t stay there, and for God’s sake don’t tell more people than you have to or I’ll lose track of who I’m supposed to memory wipe and who I’m supposed to not. Good luck!”

 

 

⧖

 

 

When Wonwoo opens his eyes, he’s in the practice studio. The old practice studio? Not the old old one—forget it, they’ve moved too many times to be clear. But it’s not their current one and the TV is on, Twice are singing ‘Knock Knock’ on Inkigayo. Wonwoo groans.

“Hyung?” It’s Mingyu, calling from the doorway.

He stares at Wonwoo, who’s lying in a heap on the ground in the truly horrendous outfit from the magazine shoot yesterday. Well, three years in the future, now.

“What are you doing on the ground?”

Wonwoo shakes his head and looks at the date on the television. 2017. His heart sinks, it really is three years in the past.

“Come to think of it,” Mingyu continues, “what are you doing here at all? Didn’t you say you were going to sleep all day at the dorms?”

“Missed you,” Wonwoo says glibly.

Mingyu gives him a look.

Crap, Knock Knock, early 2017…were they talking back then? Wonwoo can’t really remember. He knows there was a rocky period, especially during Pretty U, but he can’t remember when they started patching up. Was that abnormal? Was he still ignoring the brat?

“You’re not Wonwoo-hyung,” Mingyu says. He crosses his arms over his stripe-y grey shirt-covered chest, and squats down until they’re about eye-level. Mingyu’s still taller. God-fucking-damn it, why is Mingyu _always_ taller?

“Uh, who else would I be?” Wonwoo flails a bit in what he hopes is a convincing manner.

It is decidedly not. “On the right side of Wonwoo-hyung’s face, or to a viewer’s left, he has a mole on his ear, under his eye, and right beside his nose. While you have all those…he does not have one here.” Mingyu jabs him in the jaw. “So unless you sprouted an entire mole overnight, you’re an imposter.”

Honestly, that’s a little creepy. Mingyu knew that he was creepy, right?

But the thing is, he’s right. Wonwoo knows he’s right because a year from now he’ll first notice the spot that darkens over several months and he’ll have a freak out about skin cancer to someone and it’ll turn out to be just a mole, but the point is, yeah, in 2017, there’s nothing supposed to be there yet.

He takes a deep breath. “Okay, the truth is, I’m from the future. I was sent back by some batshit miniature ballerina with wings holding a pointy stick and the only way I can get back is if I find a…” Wonwoo scrunches his nose. What was it again? “…ten pound pink dumbbell. Not in the weight room.”

“Oh, you were sent back by a fairy godmother,” Mingyu says nodding sagely. “You must really have missed me if you asked to be magically transported back to see me.”

Wonwoo opens his mouth. He closes it again. If Mingyu’s going to buy the story, which is technically not a story because it’s the truth, but a truth that sounds so far-fetched it could make a decent book plot. Besides, the Wonwoo of now probably owes the kid, he was kind of a scroogey scumbag to him for a while for no real reason.

“Um, yeah. But now that I’ve seen you I have to get back.” Wonwoo waves his hands vaguely. “You know, laws of the universe and physics and magic and stuff.”

Mingyu nods with his lips pressed together, eyebrows set in a determined line. “Of course, I’ll help you. We can look for your pink dumbbell of power together!” He announces this with some vigour, and there’s no one else around, plus the recording room is soundproofed, but it still makes Wonwoo open his eyes round and wide.

Mingyu covers his mouth with one hand, his grubby fingers pressed tight to his lips. “Oh,” he says in a stage whisper – to be fair, that’s Mingyu’s normal noise level for a whisper – “and I’ll keep it a secret of course.”

 

 

⧖

 

 

Mingyu pops into check the recording room alone, and comes back out shaking his head.

Wonwoo sighs and gets up from the corner of his room, dusting off his hands and knees after crawling all over the floor to look under chairs, tables, even the air conditioning unit. To no avail.

“Maybe it’s not in this building,” Mingyu suggests, propped up on the counter with a cup of hot chocolate. “I’m kinda hungry, wanna go get something to eat?”

Wonwoo hadn’t really noticed this before in his earlier confusion, but Mingyu looks so _young_. The older version of him is somehow more handsome and muscular, with chiselled features, and a little more self-composure, a little less giggliness. It’s not that stuff that catches Wonwoo’s eye, it’s more the energy in his face, and buoyancy in his skin. All of them are sagging from fatigue, Wonwoo included, skin a mess from years of make-up and abrasive cleansers, but mostly from dehydration, lack of sleep, stress. This Mingyu’s eyes are bright and shiny in a way Wonwoo barely remembers, and it puts a smile on his face, quickly replaced by a frown.

Shit, what was happening to the future Mingyu now? Was time passing there as well as here? God, if they wake up and find he’s disappeared, the press will think it’s a confirmation, the company will be in an uproar trying to find him or thinking he’s eloped, and they’re probably flaying into the other members thinking they’d helped or something. It’s not like Pledis has a ‘no dating’ ban it’s just a ‘don’t get caught’ ban, but the others were still keeping his secret for him. He’d told Soonyoung, of course, and eventually had no choice but to tell Seokmin because he kept sneaking out at night and they roomed together. Mingyu wormed it out of him once when they got drunk, and he and Junhui had a pact to keep silent after they’d run into each other returning from their respective rendezvous at ass o’clock in the morning. Jihoon and Seungcheol-hyung probably knew too, because they just knew things, and if they knew…Well, really, Jeonghan-hyung probably knew which meant all of Seventeen knew. He just hadn’t spoken of it exactly to everyone. A worst kept secret, so to speak.

Wonwoo really really hoped they weren’t being punished for this. And Miyoung, God, he couldn’t even begin to imagine what she was going through right now.

“Hyung?” Mingyu prompts. “Food?”

Wonwoo despairs. They don’t have time. But the dumb dumbbell isn’t here. “Fine,” Wonwoo says, unpursing his lips. “But we have to be fast.”

“Don’t worry,” Mingyu says. “I think better on a full stomach. I want sausages.”

Okay, first of all, when has Mingyu ever managed to be actually full? And second, what the fuck, he’d forgotten that Mingyu used to eat everything before his diet of vegetables, baked chicken breast, rice, and more bland chicken breast.

 

 

⧖

 

 

The pink dumbbell is in the convenience store. It’s just sitting there, on a shelf of its own in the ‘health’ aisle, where there’s stuff like shoe insoles and painkillers. There’s no other fitness equipment in the vicinity.

Mingyu grabs it and pays (Wonwoo doesn’t have a wallet on him and he doesn’t usually carry cash, so would a credit card opened in 2019 set to expire in 2022 be accepted…good luck explaining that one), much to the store owner’s confusion.

“I didn’t know we sold dumbbells,” she says, holding the scanner up to the barcode.

“We didn’t know either,” Mingyu chirps easily.

She eyes him warily, for his height maybe, or his overenthusiastic grin, she probably hasn’t realized he’s a celebrity yet, Wonwoo doesn’t think they’re that famous to the public until the end of the year anyway. She places it in a plastic bag that immediately starts stretching at the handles as soon as Mingyu takes it from her.

“Thank you, ahjumeoni,” he says, bowing his head while Wonwoo just stares.

Once they’re outside, Mingyu holds the bag out to him, hands spread out for Wonwoo to reach inside and wormhole back or something. He’s not super clear on the logistics.

“Well? Unless there’s something else you want to do while you’re here since you have time-travelled after all. That’s pretty once-in-a-life-time if you ask me.”

“Um…there is one thing…” Not just one thing. The only thing Wonwoo came here to do, but it can’t hurt to let Mingyu think that he’s liked once in a while. _He_ ’s not the Wonwoo who’ll have to do with the ego boost. Or the clinginess. Anyway, he feels a surge of fondness for Mingyu right now for taking the whole thing so well, so he probably deserves a head pat, the big ol’ puppy.

“Let’s do it then! Your mission, should you choose to accept it?” Mingyu pretends to don a pair of sunglasses and Wonwoo immediately feels regret cooling the warm feelings.

“Actually, well, okay, is anyone in the dorms right now?”

Mingyu puts a finger on his chin. “Hm…other than Wonwoo-hyung? No, I don’t think so. Er, sorry Wonwoo-hyung, I mean like _now_ Wonwoo-hyung.”

“Okay, I just…wanna talk to him about some things. Privately. Do you think you can make sure the others stay away from the dorm for a bit? Or call ahead to warn us if you can’t stop them.”

“Sure,” Mingyu agrees smoothly, lifting his fingers to imitate a gun. “Sounds like an exciting mission.”

  

 

⧖

 

 

Wonwoo wakes current (past? younger? 2017?) Wonwoo with a rather violent shake, manhandling his own lazy ass because he knows that the lazy bugger (the lazy bugger is him, this is getting confusing now), will just lie there pretending to still be asleep for as long as he can if he can get away with it.

The Wonwoo in bed (Wonwoo’s going to think of him as his younger self, it’s just easier that way) eventually sits up, slowly forces his eyes open, takes a look at him, and promptly lies back down, mumbling, “what a weird dream.”

“It’s not a dream Jeon, although you bet I wish this weren’t real.”

His younger self pushes the covers down and stares at him. “Why do you sound like me? And look like me? Are you some secret twin that my parents never told me about? I’ve read books about twins like that, could be kinda fun.”

Wonwoo snorts. Still the same then, thinking about real life becoming a novel. “Unfortunately not your twin. You, from the future.”

“Oh. I’ve read a book like this too. The ghost of Christmas future? Ebenezer Scrooge? Charles Dickens?”

“It’s not Christmas. But something like that. Okay, listen, I’m here to warn you not to get caught.”

“Huh?”

“Just, don’t get caught.”

“Caught doing what?” he asks, quickly shoving his book from off the bedside table and under the covers.

“Ugh.” Wonwoo rolls his eyes.

Younger him draws the covers back up to his chin. “What?”

He has to think about this carefully. He’s not supposed to change too much so he’s not sure how much he’s supposed to tell. Like, what if alters the course of history and starts a war or something? The butterfly effect, they call it. But he can’t just leave it at ‘don’t get caught’. He was already told not to get caught and that was clearly not enough to prevent them from getting caught. Unless he can provide specifics, he doesn’t think this Wonwoo is going to get it.

Suddenly, he sits up. It’s just now that Wonwoo realizes the 2017 version of him is shirtless, wiry frame, six pack abs. He laughs and then—

“You’re still a virgin aren’t you?”

Okay, look, no one has a time travel bucket list. Because no one time travels. Well, except him. But if you were suddenly given the opportunity to travel back in time and there are two of you and…

“You don’t have to be all shy or whatever with me, I’m literally you in the future. I know you haven’t had sex yet. You haven’t even kissed anyone yet.”

“I so have!” His younger self protests. “If you’re really me you’ll remember—”

“Some girl in middle school, yeah yeah, you touched mouths. That’s not really kissing. You’re a complete newbie at dating. At this point you don’t even have Youngie’s phone number yet, probably don’t know how to get it.”

“What?” He asks again.

“Miyoung, er, Miyoung-noona. Nevermind.” It’d been a while since he called her noona without being naked or tied up or with his face against her pillowy boobs, not that she ever called him oppa (and it’d be weird if she did), but there was a very specific niche for that word and—

Wonwoo licks his lips and clears his throat. “Sorry, did you say something?”

“Uh, ye-ah, I asked what ‘really kissing’ was then.”

Picture this.

Picture you, a really hot guy, get sent back in time to younger self, who is still a hot guy, and your younger self is semi-naked, and remember, you are an incredibly attractive young man. The cream of the crop. Finest bone structure in the world. Everyone calls you handsome. You stare at yourself in the mirror for ages every morning, rubbing your jaw and admiring that gorgeous profile.

Pictured that?

Okay, so that’s exactly Jeon Wonwoo, and that’s why he leans in, presses his lips against those of his younger self, and slips him some tongue.

“What the fuck man?!” Younger Wonwoo spits out, shoving him away. “What is wrong with you? This is a sick and disgusting way to sexually assault someone, you stalker fan. Your plastic surgeon was good.”

Wonwoo’s a little dazed, stubborn, and still thinking about Miyoungie’s tits so semi-hard, so he takes that as a challenge because this is the greatest thing anyone’s crossed off their bucket list, surely. “Jae-eun,” he says. “Her name was Jae-eun. The girl you kissed in third year of junior middle school. You didn’t find her that hot though. The first time you jacked off was when you were alone in your room thinking about the hot noona who lent you an umbrella while in bed and you accidentally rubbed up against the mattress and got off, super embarrassed. Do you think a stalker fan would know this kind of shit about you?”

“You’re freaking me out.”

“I know but, think about it this way, if there was one guy in the entire world you’d have sex with, wouldn’t it be yourself? And literally no one else can do that. Plus, you’re so inexperienced now, don’t you want to, I don’t know, train yourself up a bit before you get a girlfriend?”

The 2017 version of him, quick to catch on, flings off the covers with a determined grimace. “Okay, teach me how to kiss.”

“Step one,” Wonwoo whispers, shifting the way he’s sitting so he’s not all twisted up at the edge of the bed, “is to use your lips.”

He leans forward and watches his younger self’s eyes close, but keeps watching. Their mouths meet, and he’s gentle, teasing, makes him arch toward him for more before pulling apart and smirking at the desperate way Wonwoo chases after him, eyes still closed, lips slightly parted, bare chest his heaving.

“Always leave them wanting,” he whispers, staying close. “Step two is to use your hands.” He cups the younger Wonwoo’s face, and kind of marvels at it. Youthful, handsome. Of course it’s handsome, it’s him after all and he’s bloody hot. He only holds his jaw for a second before sliding his hand down, fingers dancing over the delicate skin at his neck, revelling in the shiver he elicits.

His hand rests there while the other comes to the back of his head, pulling him forward for another kiss, this time deeper. His younger self, a quick learner, parts his lips to slip his tongue into Wonwoo’s mouth, and Wonwoo makes a noise that’s rather embarrassing for someone who had regular sex with one of the hottest girls in the country (even if his dumbass younger self didn’t know it).

It’s just…he’s _hot_.

Wonwoo picks up the kid’s hands, balled into fists on his thighs, and positions them around his own face. Lets him pull at his hair a little. Doesn’t stop kissing him as his hand runs over his chest, his fingers tweaking a nipple.

“Oh God,” past Wonwoo says, sounding hysterical. “Is that supposed to feel like that?”

“Good?” Of course it’s good, Wonwoo knows all his own preferences.

Past Wonwoo makes a whimpering sound that future Wonwoo captures by sealing their mouths together again.

“You’re really hot,” he muses wryly.

“You too.”

“Mm. I know,” he says, and then trails his hand down to cover the crotch of younger Wonwoo’s boxer briefs, palm warm as it cups his hardening length over the thin cotton.

Younger Wonwoo squeaks. “You said _kissing_ ,” he hisses. “This isn’t—”

“Surely you don’t think all you’ll do with girls is kissing,” Wonwoo asks. “Don’t you know how babies are made?”

“Yes! But…” and then Wonwoo squeezes lightly around the head of his cock and it turns into, “please, please do that again.”

So Wonwoo does. He can be mean to other people, but this is himself we’re talking about, so he’s happy to serve. He leans back in for another kiss (honestly, he’s never going to be able to do this again, but kissing himself is the best feeling in the world, their mouths perfect mirrors for each other, soft and strange because there’s no strawberry flavour from Miyoungie’s lip gloss, but there’s no real taste at all. Just slick and easy, because they like the same things, and this younger version of him is impressed with anything at all. And his mouth is so pretty. Wonwoo’s never thought of himself as a narcissist before, just self-assured, but fuck if he ain’t loving his own mouth right now).

This time when Wonwoo leans in, his younger self is ready and has some initiative, wrapping his arms around Wonwoo’s neck, and making all these low-pitched, breathy noises against him. He’s enthusiastic, uses everything Wonwoo’s taught him in these few short moments, tongue and lips and a hint of playfulness.

When they break apart, there’s saliva from the Wonwoo of this year’s mouth on his skin, and Wonwoo darts his tongue out to lick at the spot ardently.

“That’s my thing,” past Wonwoo says. “You’re doing _my_ thing.”

It’s future Wonwoo’s turn to ask, “what?”

“That tongue sticking out thing, that’s what I do.” He demonstrates, darting his pretty pink tongue out past his lips and swiping at a corner of his mouth quickly.

Wonwoo barks out a laugh. “If it’s your thing then it’s my thing too, isn’t it? I told you, we’re the same person.” He licks his lips and gives a gentle suck on the younger Wonwoo’s tongue, getting an idea.

He’s not met with much resistance removing the younger’s underwear, as it seems they both agree it’ll be easier for him to massage his very much hard cock if he’s naked.

“It’s not fair,” he pouts, “you’re still all dressed and I’m naked.” He sounds very much like the younger one.

Wonwoo strips out of his dreadful outfit quickly, and is a little surprised at his younger self’s awestruck gaze. A hand reaches out to touch his shoulder, arm, and then chest.

“You’re more muscular than me. That’s not fair either.”

Wonwoo, in that moment, feels very very old. “Well, you’d better stop lying in bed all day and head to the gym once in a while.”

He gets an eager nod, and then an expectant look, but Wonwoo shifts backward on the bed, until he’s half-lying, half-kneeling between his younger self’s legs. It was that fucking pink tongue, all dainty and sweet. So he goes for it, chin dipping down so he can lick the younger Wonwoo’s cock from base to tip in one long wet stripe.

“Fuck,” he says.

“It’s called a—”

“I know what a blowjob is, thanks!” past Wonwoo huffs, but he can’t stay indignant for long, his brain turning to putty with his dick inside Wonwoo’s mouth.

He doesn’t taste like much. Skin, mostly, and himself. The precum tastes nothing like a girl, and it’s not unpleasant, but Wonwoo would much rather eat Miyoungie out, save for this one try.

His younger self is not very controlled or conscious that it’s a throat he’s fucking, and his hips buck up unpleasantly, forcing Wonwoo to hold his hips down and choke back a gag. Much easier with a woman. But it’s also not that difficult, because, again, he knows what he likes. After some long licks and slow sucks, he builds up the pace a little, sucking himself off, god, just the thought of it makes his own dick twinge with arousal. He’s sucking himself off. _He’s sucking himself off_.

Sometimes Miyoungie gets lazy, shoves aside her own gag reflex, and just lets him fuck her mouth until he finds release. But he knows how he likes it, and he likes it with intense suction all the way through, controlled movement of lips over his skin, a steady pace. Something about the rhythm really gets to him, and he can already feel it in the way his younger self is squirming against him, head tossing against his pillow, strangely erotic moans released unchecked in the empty dorm room.

Wonwoo hopes he’s not going to develop a _thing_ for his own voice when he gets back.

And then, with his younger self’s abdomen tightening under his hand, Wonwoo stops sucking. Lets his dick fall from his mouth and hang in the air, watches it give a twitch.

“Oh my fucking god,” he hears himself whimper. “Fucking hell.”

Wonwoo hums with satisfaction as he mouths his balls, licking a little, waiting for the build to subside a bit before he returns to his new favourite activity: sucking himself off.

It hadn’t taken very long to get him close to this climax the first time, he’s a young man who isn’t sexually active after all, and it doesn’t take him long the second time either. But when Wonwoo sees and _hears_ – oh god is he normally this noisy during sex? Past Wonwoo is downright mewling under him, mewling like a fucking cat, all guttural and incoherent – his younger self getting close again, he does the same thing, just taking his mouth off his cock, but pinching firmly at the base with his fingers.

“Pay attention. Are you paying attention? In three years, you’re going to be sitting in the passenger’s seat of Hwang Miyoung’s white grancabrio. It’s a Tuesday night, you’re stopped in a parking lot, she’s about to drop you off home. Are you listening to me? She’s going to ask if you want her to suck you off there before going back. You can’t say yes. Write this down, send yourself a reminder, I don’t care what you have to do. You have to tell her no, not tonight. Whatever the reason. You have not let her do _this_. Come for me, Jeon Wonwoo.”

He kisses the tip of past Wonwoo’s cock, slides his mouth over it until his lips meet his fingers, and then releases his grip.

Wonwoo comes all down Wonwoo’s throat.

He’s not sure what it is, saying his own name during sex, or the utterly wrecked look on his own face, but his own dick is throbbing against the sheets and he’s not above closing his eyes and sliding his hand down. His hand misses. He’s trembling. There’s sweat all down his spine, and he likes girls, and Miyoung, god he likes Miyoungie, but he’s never been harder than this moment, right now, lying in bed with himself.

Younger Wonwoo brings a hand to his face, presses the heel of his palm to his eyes, and then scrubs upward, through sweaty strands of hair. “Is that it?” he asks, voice shaking. “You’re not going to, what was it you said? Teach me how babies are made.”

“Neither of us are girls,” Wonwoo says, eyes still closed, cock still incredibly hard. “We can’t make a baby.”

“Really? But don’t gay guys have sex too?”

Wonwoo is not a sex guru. Much less a gay sex guru. He does not know how gay guys have sex, that’s Junhui’s domain, oh no. He really does not want to think about Wen Junhui during sex. But Miyoung…

Her ex had really liked having his ass eaten out, so she’s fingered him before, and it was okay. Kinda weird, but, like.

Not just once in a lifetime.

Most people’s lifetimes do not ever feature a time travel bucket list.

And he’d enjoyed sucking himself off, erm, a bit, hadn’t he? Fucking himself would just be an extension of that.

Wonwoo opens a single eye. “Is Soonyoung still rooming here?”

Small Wonwoo looks confused. “Yeah, why?”

“Can you go to his drawer, take out the blue and grey striped sock at the bottom and grab the bottle inside? He likes to masturbate with lube, and it’s admittedly better, but anyway, we’re going to need to borrow his lube.”

“Why the fuck do you know that?”

“Listen…when you get to my age, there will really be no secrets.”

“Okay, can you do it? I’m…” He’s spent. He looks spent. His cock is already hardening again, the young asshole.

Wonwoo gestures down with his eye and chin toward his own dick, which was painfully, painfully erect, but is luckily just manageably erect after talking about Soonyoung’s sexual habits.

He doesn’t bother letting the kid do it. There’s no point, he doesn’t need to learn this, although he does spare a few moments to say that girls like getting fingered, and also they need to be prepped and not hurt, so you have to go slow and gentle, but there’s a glazed over look in his younger self’s eyes, watching Wonwoo insert a slicked up finger and then two and then pressing them in and out until he takes them to the second knuckle and kind of…pets at his inside. He shivers. Adds a third finger in. Continues pushing and pulling and trying to relax his muscles, letting his fingers doing the stretching and getting used to the rather odd sensation.

“Use a condom,” Wonwoo instructs. “Always use a condom. Make sure she’s on birth control too, but the condom is for diseases and in case she misses a day by accident.”

“Do we have condoms?”

“No, but you’re a virgin, and I get regularly tested and always use a condom, so we’re just going to wing it. Do as I say, not as I do, got it?”

There’s a nod, but Wonwoo wonders if it’s getting into his head, with the bob in his throat and tunnel vision.

“Is that…like…?”

“Yes, and I’m clean, and are we going to be two Jeon Wonwoos making a baby Jeon Wonwoo or not here?”

Past Wonwoo nods fervently, and has to close his eyes when Wonwoo starts covering his cock with lube too. Something tells him he’s not going to get fucked for very long.

Honestly, and he can be honest here because it’s with himself, he’s really grateful that his cock is, like, not tiny, but not that big either. Wonwoo means the girth, it’s just not super thick, although he can definitely feel it at his entrance, and it’s _a bit of a squeeze_ to put it lightly. He takes many many deep breaths, and chants the word relax at himself, with his eyes closed. Wonwoo feels himself filling up, stretched and if he shifts their hips a little—there, now, theoretically if they move his cock (his own fucking cock really) will be rubbing up against—ooh, that’s nice.

“Wonwoo,” he says quietly, and his younger self freezes for a moment. And then pushes all the way in, like all the way in Wonwoo can feel his balls on his ass, and that is not what he was asking for. He sucks in air sharply and his younger self seems to realize his mistake, finally stopping.

“It’s just, when you said my name…”

“It’s my own name too. Say it yourself, Wonwoo. Say your name.”

“Wonwoo,” he kind of moans out, eyelids fluttering closed, one hand gripped around Wonwoo’s leg.

“ _Fuck, that’s hot_ ,” they chorus together, and then stare at each other and both laugh.

Wonwoo turns his head away, but with his past self chuckling while still in him, he can feel all the places where they slide against each other, and it’s, it’s a lot.

It’s a lot for his younger self too, who moans a bit, sucking in a breath, his dick sliding halfway out in the process. He pushes back in. “Oh my God.”

“There’s no ‘God’ here. Only Wonwoos.”

“Fuck, say that again, Wonwoo.”

“I kind of feel like you should call me Wonwoo- _hyung_ ,” he jokes, hand lazily going to his own cock, leaking obscenely over his abs.

He gets an eye roll for trying.

“Well, fuck me, Jeon Wonwoo,” he whispers. He knows what he looks like, saying that low and breathy, knows because he’s seen it now and knows what it can do to himself. His hair spread out over the sheets, handsome profile barely lit by the light coming through the curtains, smooth skin and firm muscles. And Wonwoo is inside him, younger Wonwoo that is, he’s literally going to have his ass fucked by himself and he can’t stop the whine that comes from his throat.

“Yes, _Wonwoo_ ,” comes the whispered reply. Fuck.

It’s not a particularly good fuck, objectively speaking. His younger self is wild, and a bit uncontrolled, his hips jerky, his rhythm a bit sporadic. It’s understandable, he probably think about getting his older self off when there’s all this tight heat wrapped around his cock, squeezing really, Wonwoo’s ass swallowing up his dick – Wonwoo’s ass swallowing up Wonwoo’s dick – enticingly, so Wonwoo doesn’t blame him. He’ll have plenty of time to get better anyway, and it doesn’t hurt, so he counts that as a plus.

It’s hot enough just watching himself fuck into him, and he’s still vocal, the name ‘Wonwoo’ being repeated over and over again, whether it’s from one mouth or another, which is still just so damn hot. His hand knows what to do, fisting himself at a nice regular tempo, with the pressure he likes, and to be honest, the dick in his ass can be good. It’s got his senses all super sharp because he’s so filled up, and he’s getting that spot massaged on the whole every few strokes.

“More, Wonwoo,” he says, grinning when the command takes instant effect, and having to bite down on the strewn covers to keep down the sound that wants to make its way out of his throat. You know what, taking it up the ass is not bad. He doesn’t think he can get off like this if not for his hand pumping up and down on his own dick, but there’s a softly building buzz in his core, warm and pleasant.

“Faster, Wonwoo,” he says, and his younger self goes almost _too_ fast.

“You like that, Wonwoo?” he asks pointedly, out of breath, and Wonwoo hums in a non-answer. It’s not entirely clear if this Wonwoo is just low in stamina or if he’s getting close.

“Do you like getting fucked by Wonwoo, Wonwoo? I bet you do, because I like fucking you. It’s hot. I’m fucking myself, which also seems kind of wrong, but that just makes it hotter. I’m going to fuck your brains out, Wonwoo, until that’s the only name you know. Your own. Just Wonwoo, Wonwoo, Wonwoo.”

Fuck. Holy fuck. Wonwoo fucking Wonwoo fuck. He’s three years older than this Wonwoo and all he can think, riding the wild snap of his hips and bucking uncontrollably into his own hand, is that he’s three years older than this Wonwoo but he’s teaching him about a dirty talk kink Wonwoo never knew he had. Just that little…stint…had put him dangerously close to climax.

“Is that really all you’ve got, Wonwoo?” he grunts out, clenching his muscles tighter. “Come on Wonwoo, you can do better than that. Or aren’t you strong, Wonwoo? Fuck me, fuck me as hard as you can, Wonwoo.”

And boy does he try. But he lasts two thrusts and he’s coming again, in Wonwoo’s ass, Wonwoo beating himself off to completion not too long behind.

He’s scooping sticky white out of his asshole and wiping at himself with a tissue while his younger self remains lying content and naked on his bed, eyes closed. Probably is sleeping, the bastard. He knows himself.

Wonwoo dresses quickly, and then nudges the younger Wonwoo with his knee. “I have to go. Remember what I told you, okay? You have to remember.”

There’s a moment of silence and then: “Which part?”

The Wonwoo of 2017 rolls over slowly, arching like a cat, and stretches lazily, showing off all that unmarked skin. He opens his eyes with a slight smile on his face, and damn, is he flirting with Wonwoo? He looks…gorgeous. Beatific and beautiful. Wonwoo’s breath hitches; he put that expression there.

Really is nothing in the world like self love.

“You know which part. Say no, Jeon Wonwoo.”

He touches the pink dumbbell.

 

 

⧖

 

 

“You lingered.” It’s pink tutu black leotard white tights flappy wings six inch fairy godmother.

“Um,” Wonwoo says, “I was doing something important.”

She snickers. “Don’t think you were the one doing the _doing_ , if you know what I mean.”

Wonwoo’s jaw drops. “You were watching us?! What the fuck?!”

“Not intently, but I had to check in on you and you were, shall we say, elsewise occupied.”

“How much did you see?”

“Let’s put it this way. I will just accept the knowledge as your payment for the time travel.”

She drops a newspaper in front of him (people still printed newspapers? that was weird, it was probably just for dramatic effect), the front page sporting a photo of some senior politician caught having an affair. Miyoung’s Maserati is nowhere in sight.

“On the other hand, your girlfriend’s a bit peeved you didn’t have sex so she might not call for a few days. Gives you a bit of time to recover so you don’t have to explain why you’re so sore in the arsehole. Goodbye!”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> dearest preemcess: don’t worry, i knew exactly what you were talking about. this is 100% your fault.  
> okay fine, you know me, so i better take at least 17% of the blame lest you expose that screenshot. 
> 
> to everyone else: i can't believe you made it this far. this was 100% idolrapper (wonwoo)'s fault.  
> 'twas trash, but at least now i've regained confidence in my ability to complete a fic in one night.


End file.
